


ten thousand miles to take me home

by Marshmellow (orphan_account)



Series: Fraternite de ABK [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Marshmellow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire gets drunk and thinks too much. Happens sometime before (I know I said after that was my mistake) A Funny Thing Happened, but is more of an independent thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ten thousand miles to take me home

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just posting all the little one shots I have written right now. This is basically independent. The title probably doesn't make sense but alas.

He was drunk again.

Alone in his room, Johnny Prouvaire having not yet come up from the party downstairs, he drank and drank and drank. Because come on, can he ever be anything but a disappointment? No. No, not good ‘ole Horatio Brett Grantaire. Even his fucking name was garbage. Who names their kid Horatio? Fucking horrific parents, that’s who. Brett Grantaire, he told people. Horatio made him feel ugly, and the mirror did enough of that. 

Alexander Enjolras did enough of that.

“Go upstairs before you break the table again, Brett.” He’d said, almost gently. “You’re going to hurt somebody.” 

He hadn’t meant it scaldingly, but Grantaire felt scalded. He felt monstrous. And maybe it was the alcohol, for alcohol tended to make him far more sensitive than ever. Maybe it wasn’t, maybe he was just playing victim like always.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” Grantaire said into his bottle. He laughed for if he didn’t he’d cry. “I only hurt myself, don’t I?” 

“Brett?” Johnny’s voice was small from the doorway of their room. “Brett…are you okay? You don’t look so good.” 

“I’m fine, Johnny.” His melancholy tone betrayed him. “I’m alright.”

“Do you need me to get Alex?”

Alex. Johnny could call him Alex. Grantaire couldn’t.

Only my friends call me Alex. He’d once said. It had been in the heat of a fight, Grantaire pleading for forgiveness for something he’d long since forgotten. But those words remained in his memory. 

So Grantaire wasn’t a friend. He wasn’t a brother. He was just The Drunk. 

“No. You don’t need to get Alexander.” Grantaire knocked his head lightly against his bedpost. He sat on the floor, legs splayed out so that they almost touched Johnny’s bed.

Johnny made a face at the use of Alex’s full name. Everyone in the frat called him Alex by now. Only teachers and those who weren’t allies to him called him Alexander. 

Johnny left. Grantaire didn’t really mind. Sometimes he liked being alone when he was drunk. It let him think. 

He wasn’t alone for long. Turns out that Johnny didn’t listen to Grantaire and he had gotten Alex anyway.

“…he looks near tears, and I don’t know if I can help…” Johnny’s voice came from the foot of the staircase just a door down from his room. 

“I can handle it. Go back to the party.”

Great. Now he can be upset at me for tearing him away from his duties as ABK president. Grantaire drank as he heard the footsteps near his doorway. 

“Brett.” Alex didn’t pause. He took a seat next to Grantaire on the floor. “Are you okay?”

“Worry not, Alexander.” Grantaire said loudly. “I am in good health.”

“You’re very drunk.”

“Not as drunk as I want to be.” 

Alex was quiet for a moment. “Johnny told me you were near tears.”

Grantaire couldn’t respond to that. Of course he was near tears. He was almost always near tears nowadays. 

“Unrequited love might do that to a person.”

He didn’t mean to say that out loud. He could always blame it on the alcohol later anyway. 

“Who?” Alex asked, gently taking the bottle from Grantaire’s hands and setting it on the floor.

Grantaire wanted to laugh. He was asking who? Did he not know? There was no possible way. Grantaire couldn’t have been more obvious. He’d at one point shouted to nearly the entire Greek Row that he would die for The Almighty Alexander Enjolras. 

“You should know. I’ve made it obvious, haven’t I?”

“You should go to bed.” Alex stood and took Grantaire’s hands firmly in his own, pulling him until he was standing and then pushing him gently towards the bed.

“Will you lie with me, Alexander?”

“Why don’t you call me Alex?” He asked instead of answering.

“You said I shouldn’t.”

Alex was quiet. He knew he had said that, but of course he couldn’t mean it. They fought; they always fought. It never meant he wanted to push Grantaire away. He believed in Grantaire’s potential. He wanted to help him, not hurt him.

Instead of reassuring Grantaire of this, he instead sat down on the bed, slowly laying down as though he was unsure. Grantaire, for lack of better positioning, flung an arm around Alex’s waist and buried his face into Alex’s shoulder. 

“It’s you, Alex. Always you. I said I’d die for you, didn’t I?”

Alex didn’t know what to do, so instead he kissed Grantaire’s head and combed his fingers through the corse hair. Grantaire was going to have an awful headache in the morning.

“Sleep, Brett. We can talk in the morning.” 

Grantaire drifted off, his hold on Alex loosening only slightly. He wouldn’t get this chance to hold him ever again, so he would soak it up for all it was worth. 


End file.
